"Meaning the possible overlooking of a generator so bad that the ship would explode, losing for Wrightwood a good bit. Kill off a ship a month by not working too hard, by looking the other way when the generator is about to cave in, by slowing down operations--" "Look, I--" Morehouse stood up. "Maybe it isn't even conscious," he said slowly. "Just a subconscious act, blinding the eyes so that a ship is sent forth to explode." "What am I? An accident prone?" "Maybe where Wrightwood is concerned," suggested Morehouse. "Lord knows I have no love for William Wrightwood," said Steve soberly, "and I want to strike back at him. But no man knows better than I do that the way to clip Wrightwood is to wrest some of his power from him or to go ahead and do that which he deemed impossible." "He is right," said Lois. Morehouse swivelled around and looked at her. "Lois, are you in love with him?" "I might be. Eventually I may be. Now, I don't know him well enough. But--" "You're talking in a circle." "--but I will say this: I will be a very happy woman if Steve Hagen turns out to be a right guy." Morehouse looked at her silently; Steve took a deep breath; Charlemagne stared at the ceiling. In the silence the computer behind the alarm screen clicked code; none of them had to turn to look at the galactic sector. They knew it was a distant base responding to a distant alarm, two or three hundred light years across the galaxy. * * * * * Morehouse eyed Steve, then. "Hagen, we can't take chances on you." "I'm being tossed out on a premise?" "Why don't you resign?" "Why split hairs?" asked Steve. "A matter of prestige. You have always had an excellent record. Had you shown any blots, you'd have been cashiered during training school. You graduated high in the class and therefore--according to the laws--we had to accept you. Mostly," said Morehouse sharply and hitting his fist in the palm of his other hand, "because we knew that any reason we give for releasing you must be air tight. Wrightwood owns too many news agencies, congressmen, and top-drawer statesmen. He'll eye anything we do and if he can, he'll yell favoritism, revenge, or rank incompetence." "And if I resign?" "That will be your prerogative." "Also an admission to Wrightwood that he was right?" "That's your problem." "I decline." "We can force your hand, Hagen." "How?" "You forget that," said Morehouse, turning and pointing at the faulty warp generator. "But--" "It is hard to believe that a Guardian, even a raw recruit, could miss such an obvious fault; it is even more difficult to think that such an oversight was made in malice and revenge." "I--" "Then how did it happen?" demanded Morehouse. "I don't know." "And you won't resign?" "No."